Clockwork Universe

by John W Dennehy

  Sarah lay on the grass, mid-way to the barricade. A few soldiers had rushed to her aid, missing out on the action. Another volley of rifle fire and the beast was out of range.

  Kevin met Sarah’s eyes momentarily. She nodded.

  He ran after the Great Hunter. Pain pulsated through both shins with each step. Racing toward the Rover, a surge of adrenaline overcame him. Soon, he caught up to Cunningham. The hunter trundled toward the vehicle, focused on every step.

  Only when Kevin passed in front of him, did Cunningham seem to register the young tracker. A disconcerted look emanated from the hunter’s bulging eyes.

  “Blazes!” Cunningham roared. “I thought you were dead.”

  “Thanks for running to my aid,” Kevin replied.

  The Great Hunter grinned. “Let’s not let this one get away.”

  “I’ll drive,” Kevin said, climbing into the Rover.

  Cunningham clambered into the passenger seat as Kevin fired up the engine. The stove knocked and steam pipes rattled. He looked over at Cunningham expectantly.

  “We can’t wait for her to warm up,” Cunningham said. “On with the chase!”

  Kevin stepped on the gas and tore over the common, sending clods of dirt and grass into the air. The Rhino-pard charged over the grassy plain and cut into the shadows of a wood line. But instead of chasing after the beast, Kevin cut the wheel and headed for Tremont Street.

  “What in Blazes are you doing?” Cunningham barked.

  “Beating it to the point,” Kevin chuckled.

  “You’ve done lost the trail,” Cunningham griped.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The Rover bounced down the cobblestone roadway, swerving in-between Hansom Cabs and steam buggies. As they crested a hill, the staunch rear end of the Rhino-pard came into view.

  Cunningham shook his head. “Well I’ll be,” he muttered.

  Kevin grinned and accelerated. The Rover hit a depression in the road, and then shot into the air. The front tires landed with a bang. He felt the vehicle suddenly swerve to the left. Fighting the wheel for control, Kevin jolted the Rover in the opposite direction. Now, it was speeding for the granite curb.

  “We’ve had it for sure!” Cunningham bellowed.

  “Nope.” Kevin grinned coolly.

  Cunningham’s eyes widened.

  Kevin fought the wheel again. The Rover shot to the left again. He did the same maneuver and it bolted right. This time, the torque had waned. After a few more corrections, the vehicle was under control.

  “Heavens,” said Cunningham. “Are you trying to kill us, lad?”

  They cruised downhill toward the theater district. Just as Kevin shifted to higher gear, the Rhino-pard bolted left down a side street.

  He braked hard, cutting the wheel. The Rover leaned, almost tipping over, while Cunningham clutched the safety bar. Momentum teetered the Rover onto two wheels.

  “We’re going over!” Cunningham yelped.

  Kevin grinned, shaking his head.

  The Rover rounded the turn, and dropped back onto all four wheels. He picked up the pursuit without losing a beat. Mashing the gas pedal, Kevin sped the Rover up, lunging over bumpy roads. They crested a hill, sending the vehicle into flight.

  When the Rover landed, they jostled about the compartment. It continued traveling straight without veering.

  “Blazes!” Cunningham adjusted his pith helmet.

  “The creature is giving us a run for its money,” Kevin said.

  “I’ll say…” Cunningham agreed. “Where in heavens did you learn to drive?”

  “New Hampshire. Not much to do, but race around country roads.”

  “I’ll say,” said Cunningham. “Fine colony. Fine colony indeed.”

  “I think it’s headed toward the harbor.”

  Cunningham seemed to be checking the safety on his Weatherby. “What makes you say that?” he muttered, finally looking up from the rifle.

  “Just a hunch.”

  “Great hunters don’t rely on hunches, son.”

  Then, the Rhino-pard cut down a narrow street on the right. Kevin braked hard, pushing the pedal to the floor. The Rover’s front end nosed toward the ground, as the rear lunged upward. He couldn’t make the turn.

  Bringing the Rover to a stop, just past the side street, they surged forward, and then the back end dropped with a clang. Kevin shifted into reverse and accelerated.

  Cunningham looked dumbfounded at the speed they traveled backward. Kevin merely glanced in the rearview mirrors for guidance.

  He shifted into drive and turned down the side road, stepping on the gas, while scanning for the beast. It charged along at a full trot without any sign of slowing down.

  Occasionally, the Rhino-pard came upon an unsuspecting pedestrian taken by surprise. The beast merely lowered its head, and horned the person to a side, with the flick of the neck. Kevin had to swerve around prostrate bodies of the fallen.

  The beast zigzagged through city streets, trouncing over cobblestone ways, brick roads, and dirt paths. Kevin followed in hot pursuit, braking hard, yanking the wheel, anything necessary to keep the chase afoot.

  Cunningham tossed about the cabin, trying to steady his rifle, and repeatedly adjusted his helmet. Their circuitous path led downhill, plying toward the great harbor.

  Eventually, the Rover rumbled over the Congress Street Bridge, entering South Boston near the Cogeneration Steam Facility. Kevin thought of the intricate clockwork inside the brick building and its peculiar operator, Barnaby Runge.

  He began thinking the clockwork had something to do with the bizarre alternate world around him. The intricate cogs seemed more involved than merely providing steam to the city’s inhabitants. Something to do with time, or an alternate dimension, he suspected, churned by the unusual gears and sprockets.

  Runge ran the facility and maybe a portion of the universe.

  A quick turn shook Kevin from his thoughts. The Rhino-pard cut left, plying through thick grass, as it trounced over an open plain.

  “The beast is headed toward the docks,” Cunningham bellowed.

  “I don’t trust it,” Kevin said, hesitant to pursue.

  “Blazes, lad!” Cunningham shook his head. “Get after it.”

  Kevin stuck to the bumpy roadway. The Rhino-pard dipped into a depression, and a moment later didn’t arise on the next knoll. It disappeared from view altogether.

  “Where did it go?” Cunningham said agape.

  “Running along the depression,” Kevin surmised.

  “But which direction did it go?”

  “Toward the right,” Kevin said, pointing at the lowlands.

  “What makes you so sure?

  “Just don’t think that it would double back toward the city.”

  “The creature does seem bent on pressing toward the shoreline.” Cunningham nodded. “Wonder what ails the blasted thing.”

  Kevin accelerated, trying to get ahead of the beast before the road curved around the end of the open plain. “Look!” he said, pointing.

  The Rhino-pard flanked east toward the water. It pounded along a depression, trying to conceal its flight from the hunters. A portion of its rump, and the tip of the horn, bobbed into view sporadically.

  “Right you are!” Cunningham yelled.

  Stepping on the gas, the Rover accelerated moving ahead of the beast. They were about forty meters to the side of it, traveling along parallel paths. Eventually, the road wound to the left, intersecting with the Rhino-pard’s path, and then headed toward the docks where they had started the tracking party.

  Kevin pushed the vehicle harder. It swayed to the right as he began cutting around the bend. Cunningham leaned into the passenger door, until the Rover leveled off. Then, he checked over the Weatherby and readied himself to alight the vehicle quickly.

  “Once you get to the intersection of that drainage channel,” Cunningham barked, “bring her to stop and I’ll set up on the hood.”

  Kevin nodded, thinking
the same thing.

  As they neared the intersecting point, the Rhino-pard continued charging down the trough. Twenty meters away, Kevin brought the Rover to a stop. Cunningham opened the door as the beast closed the distance by five meters.

  Kevin worried the Rhino-pard would merely skirt around them. The beast might keep running along the drainage ditch on the other side of the road. It could be off before Cunningham got into position. He reached for the Ray-gun, and then yanked the door handle on the Rover.

  He saw Cunningham leaning over the hood, Weatherby in hand, almost ready to fire. The Great Hunter flicked off the safety as Kevin opened the door. Cunningham’s eyes widened and his mouth went agape.

  Turning to look, the door slammed shut and Kevin’s window shattered. Glass cascaded all over him. He felt the door panel buckle inward, and the Rover lunged into the air.

  He grabbed hold of the steering wheel and braced for impact. As the steam vehicle tipped, he caught sight of Cunningham rolling off the hood. The Rover teetered on two wheels for a moment.

  Then, Kevin saw the Rhino-pard thump around the front of the vehicle.

  A shot rang through the night air. The sound of a big bore rifle echoed in Kevin’s ears. And the Rover rattled and creaked, and then dropped hard onto its side.

  The windshield cracked; a spider web splintered across the glass. Cunningham let out a cry of pain. Agony. Tearing and shredding sounds emanated from the ground by the hood. A menacing snarl, then heavy thuds padded away toward the ditch.

  “Cunningham!” Kevin yelled in panic.

  No answer.

  The beast got him, ripped the hunter to shreds, Kevin thought. He hung, belted in the driver’s seat, with the Rover tipped on the passenger side. His head swirled from blood rushing to his temples, and the sudden loss of equilibrium made him pass out.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Entangled in the Rover, Kevin awoke to the sound of rifle fire. He struggled to get loose, while looking for the Ray-gun. Kevin spotted the weapon nestled in the corner of the passenger side floorboards. He stretched and grabbed hold of the handle, and then spun around searching for a way out.

  The passenger door was lodged into the roadway, and the driver’s door buckled from the blow. He kicked at the windshield with a jackboot, but the glass held strong.

  Another shot fired. The Weatherby, he thought.

  Then he heard a moan.

  “Cunningham!” Kevin screamed.

  Kevin kicked madly at the glass. It broke and shards fell away. He kicked again and again, dislodging chunks of windshield, making a hole large enough to crawl through.

  Broken glass was everywhere, cutting his hands and shredding through the knees of his pants. Adrenaline and anxiety helped mask the pain. He scampered through the shattered windshield and crawled onto the road.

  The Great Hunter was sprawled on the cobblestones, a trickle of blood ran from his lip; the Weatherby lay on the deck beside him, bolt open as though getting ready for another shot. A few meters away, the pith helmet sat crushed and marred by a Rhino-pard footprint.

  Cunningham groaned.

  Kevin rushed to his side, kneeling by the fallen hunter.

  “Don’t let it get away,” Cunningham muttered.

  Glancing down the drainage ditch, the Rhino-pard plodded along. Its hind legs kicked up soggy turf. The collision had slowed the beast down, and maybe Cunningham landed a lucky shot. Kevin couldn’t fathom ever catching up to the thing on foot.

  He rolled Cunningham over and propped him against the grille.

  “Tore up my shooting jacket is all,” Cunningham said, leaning against the Rover.

  Kevin looked at the hunter’s chest. The jacket was ripped to shreds and blood oozed from striations, but it wasn’t gushing. Superficial wounds, at least to a guy like Cunningham. Kevin thought about going after the beast. Maybe the Rhino-pard would run into a dead end by the water.

  Cunningham seemed to sense his thoughts. “Go on, lad,” he said. “I’ll be quite all right.”

  Bending over, Kevin snatched up the Weatherby and handed it to Cunningham. “In case it comes back this way,” he said.

  The Great Hunter nodded, taking the rifle.

  Kevin ran across the road and shuffled down the embankment. His shins hurt, but he blocked out the pain. Sprinting along the drainage ditch, he couldn’t spot the Rhino-pard ahead. The beasts’ tracks were easy to spot, however. He followed churned up mud and bits of grass from its flight.

  He clutched the Ray-gun tightly.

  The exertion sent his heart racing. Kevin could feel the thrill of the chase mixed with anxiety over another confrontation with the creature. He ran fast, not wanting the beast to get away. At the same time, he dreaded catching up to it.

  Cresting a slight incline, a remote edge of the harbor came into view. Kevin saw a narrow service road intersecting with the drainage ditch. A pipe ran beneath the dirt roadway. The Rhino-pard charged up the embankment, and ran across the distant road.

  Kevin was less than a hundred meters away.

  Beyond the road lay a small point that jutted into the open harbor. The beast was trapped. Kevin eased into a jog, trying to recover some energy.

  The creature trampled over the dead grass, headed for the shoreline.

  As he neared the service road, Kevin heard an incessant rattling from his left. Cunningham rolled over the service road in a steam jalopy. His chubby cheeks were cast in a sardonic grin.

  The Great Hunter seemed oblivious to Kevin’s approach. Rumbling over the dirt road, dust kicked up from the jalopy’s spoke wheels, then it careened off the roadway into the grass. Cunningham bounced in the seat, keeping to the side of the ditch.

  Kevin broke into a sprint. The Rhino-pard swung its head around toward Cunningham. Kevin expected the beast to double back and charge the buggy, but the creature kept pressing for the shoreline.

  Cunningham rambled the steam buggy along, driving the beast toward the dock, cutting off any retreat.

  Kevin finally saw the beast’s destination.

  A barge docked at a rickety wharf. The cargo vessel floated offshore, flat, comprised of splintered planks about fifty meters long. A wooden box-container hunkered in the center, and a single line held the barge to the dock, fastened around a pillar.

  The Rhino-pard pounded onto the dock. A man stood at the end wearing a top hat and tailcoat. His countenance appeared obtuse in the shadows, but he didn’t seem frightened by the stampeding beast.

  Then, the Great Hunter wheeled the jalopy around, so the rear-end pointed toward the harbor.

  Kevin caught up as Cunningham alighted from the vehicle.

  Cunningham trundled around to the back of the buggy, as the beast pounded across the dock. “Don’t just stand there, lad!” Cunningham bellowed. “Time is a wasting.”

  The hunter yanked a tarp off the jalopy. A gleaming brass Gatling gun stood on a tripod. Cunningham had left the buggy idling. There was a hose running from the steam engine to the shiny gun.

  “Gas powered by steam?” Kevin asked, helping lower it to the ground.

  “Correct indeed, lad,” Cunningham replied. “Right you are, once again.”

  “Where did you get it?” Kevin said, then glanced at the jalopy. “And the steam buggy… where did that come from?”

  “Commandeered it along the roadside. An expeditious acquisition.”

  “You were lying injured by the Rover?”

  “They can’t keep a good man down long.” Cunningham eased the gun around. “No time for talking. Let’s get to it.”

  Kevin understood the Great Hunter had every intention of manning the impressive gun, so he reached for a cartridge belt and began feeding it into the Gatling gun. As soon as the weapon was ready, Cunningham began pulling the trigger.

  The barrels pointed slightly downward. Rounds ripped across the dirt roadway, and then tore into the dock. The man with the top hat cackled. Cunningham adjusted the menacing gun on its tripod, as the Rhino-par
d thundered into the cargo box.

  The man in the top hat stepped onto the barge, dropping the line into murky waters. Another volley of rounds ripped loose. This time, the bullets riddled the end of the dock and found purchase in the barge, strafing planks and blasting into the wooden box-container.

  A strong current quickly set the cargo vessel into the harbor. Cunningham let loose, emptying the entire cartridge belt. Bullets stippled the vessel and homed in on the container, but only resulted in jostling the barge when an occasional round struck the Rhino-pard’s hide.

  “Quick, lad,” Cunningham barked. “Reload the gun!”

  “Right,” Kevin replied, moving surely.

  While they prepared for another assault, the man in the top hat closed the box-container door and latched it shut. He turned toward the desperate hunters and bid adieu by tipping his hat and bowing.

  “That blasted Frenchman thinks he’s going to get away!” Cunningham bellowed.

  “The barge is almost out of range, and our rounds are just plugging into waterlogged wood,” Kevin said, feeding the gun. “The thing doesn’t have a hull to knock a hole into it.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Cunningham replied.

  The Great Hunter let loose another volley of rounds. The Gatling gun vibrated his hands furiously as the barrels rotated at amazing speed. His chubby face turned red from exhilaration.

  Bullets ripped through the deck of the barge and tore into the wooden box-container, but none struck the man in the top hat, and any rounds that pierced the container didn’t seem to drop the beast. Kevin only heard the Rhino-pard snort and buck.

  Determined, the Great Hunter fired away continuously, until the gun was empty. The last few rounds dropped into the choppy water as the barge drifted out of range.

  “Looks like we lost them,” Kevin said, stymied.

  “Maybe not for long,” Cunningham said, pointing.

  ****

  An iron-clad flying the flag of the British Empire trolled toward the barge. The steam-powered military vessel moved at a faster clip than the cargo barge, which had merely been set adrift.

  “The Royal Navy will board them soon enough.” Cunningham smiled.